Cor ad Cor Loquitur
by Witnessed
Summary: Amidst Toronto's first hate crimes, the relationship of Emily and Julia is evolving into something wholly inappropriate. (EmilyxJulia)(JuliaxWilliam)(EmilyxGeorge).
1. Chapter 1 - Emily's Reverie

_**Author's Note:** As I believe season 8 starts in 1902, this will take place in 1903. The main pairing in this piece is Julia/Emily, but as a tangled web is to be weaved, there is of course the obligatory William/Julia and George/Emily. I've done minimal amounts of research in to Victorian/Edwardian Toronto, but if you have any helpful hints or tips about things that are anachronistic, please let me know. Also, I don't believe that they go over Julia and Emily's schooling in great detail on the show, but the impression that I received on the show was that they went to medical school in mixed classes. However, according to my (brief) research, if they had been educated in Toronto, they would have been shoved in to the Women's Medical College, which would have segregated them from the men at the Faculty of Medicine. So that is what I am running with in this story! I hope you enjoy!_

Emily Grace was a woman of knowledge. She had poured over _Gray's Anatomy_ during medical school, memorizing the valves of the heart, the lobes of the liver, and every tendon and ligament in the human body. In her personal life, she was widely read, a skilled croquet player, and had a deep interest in metaphysics (she had always secretly enjoyed imagining how ahast her medical school peers would be if they knew). However, her foundation stone of knowledge was a simple, undeniable principle: the pure perfection of Dr. Julia Ogden.

Emily had few female friends. It wasn't that she disliked women, but merely that many seemed to be off-put by her brashness. 'Man-like' she had heard the women at university whisper in the halls as she passed. It didn't particularly bother her. She despised sitting in parlours, drinking sherry and talking endlessly about social scandals, how to best set your hair to get a wave, and how tightly to lace your corset. She found few women reached her level of sheer intellectual curiosity, even if they had been educated enough to participate in polite dinner conversation.

Julia was different. Even before she started working at the city morgue, Emily was in awe. While attending the Women's Medical College, she had heard of Dr. Ogden. She had been sitting around with a few of the men from the University of Toronto, drinking brandy and playing pool, when the topic of pathology came up. Walter, an American whom Emily had immediately disliked, had sneered and called out in his insufferable drawl "Did y'all know that the city has a woman doin' their post-mortems?" A couple of the other men snorted, while the rest cringed. They knew this was shortly to become an uncomfortable game of snooker.

"A female doctor? What's her name?" Grace had asked, her pool cue in her left hand, her right hand on her hip. Walter shrugged.

"Dr. Oben or somethin'. I forget. Apparently her daddy was a doctor, and she passed down the hallowed halls of the Women's Medical College." He gave a smirk in her direction, and Emily's blood had boiled at the pointed jab that the University of Toronto would not admit her to the Faculty of Medicine due to her gender. "Anyway, a woman choppin' up dead bodies! It is really too much for the female mind, I think. Plus, horribly immodest! Female doctors need to stick to women. Preferably, living women."

"Well I think it's amazing." Emily had snapped, tightening her grip on her pool cue. "Not only must she be an excellent doctor with a fine eye for detail, but she must also be incredibly analytical, and to work in such a male-dominated field with what I am sure are very aggressive men... she must be quite something." Walter had snorted.

"Or her daddy made a large donation to the station and they're stuck with her faintin' every time a decayin' corpse comes bye." He chortled at his own wit.

"Yes." Emily said coldly. "At the women's college, we never do dissections as our fragile, female minds can't stand actual anatomy. We simply colour-in pictures of the lungs all day, and we graduate based on the truest-to-life hues that we can muster."

Emily never quite got over the rage that overcame her when people made such comments. However, Doctor Julia Ogden was on her radar, and the more questions she asked, the more information her fellow medical students seemed to be able to provide her with. Emily hadn't considered a career in pathology up until that point, but the more she thought about it, the more romantic it seemed. She imagined days in the morgue, carefully investigating every inch of the deceased, looking for clues, astonishing the police with her keen eye and brilliant observations that cracked the cases right open. They would take her to the crime scenes, imploring her to spot something they had missed, some biological cue that their untrained mind would overlook. And perhaps, some attractive detective would notice her and her brilliant mind, and a workplace romance would blossom based on their mutual love of excitement and learning. Of course, she had been engaged to Jerome at this time, so it wasn't anything more than penny dreadful inspired fantasy. By the time she graduated, however, Jerome was out of the picture, and she had marched straight to the Toronto City Morgue and demanded to speak to the pathologist. By thiattime she had spent thousands of hours pouring over anatomy texts, police texts, crime novels and anything she could grab that was vaguely related to police work and dead bodies. She was confidant that she was a capable asset to the station, but still felt butterflies in her stomach as she waited to be granted an audience with the woman who had inspired her from afar.

She had to admit, she hadn't expected Julia to be so incredibly beautiful and charming. She had imagined a woman, toughened by working in such a coarse environment, who dressed dowdily and would frown at Emily over her spectacles until Emily convinced this amazing woman of her worth. What she was met with, however, was a tall, lithe and impeccably dressed doctor whose smile was gracious and warming even to a stranger. Emily's heart caught in her throat, and for a moment she was thrown off balance. Her mind was blank, and she couldn't remember exactly why she had wanted to see the famous Dr. Ogden.

"Hello." Julia had offered Emily her hand, and Emily took a deep breath and awkwardly extended hers, gripping Julia's a bit too hard, her arm jerking wildly. "I am Dr. Ogden, the pathologist at this station house."

"Hello Dr. Ogden." Emily parroted, taking a deep breath. "I-I'm Emily. Emily Grace." She took another breath. "Dr. Emily Grace."

"Oh how wonderful!" Julia's smile lit up even more, and Emily was sure she had made a horrible decision. How could she think that she could impress or even render herself useful to such a woman? "I so rarely get the company of other doctors here, especially female ones. This is quite delightful. How can I help you, Dr. Grace?"

"I... I just graduated from the Women's Medical College, and although it might seem a little odd, I thought that I might be suited to the kind of work you do here. With pathology, and aiding the police. I really enjoyed dissection, and I don't think that I'd like seeing living patients every day... I liked research too, and I really think this is kind of like doing research every day. I mean, I like living people, but in my last year I worked in the Dispensary, and I just got so tired of seeing these poor women coming in with so many problems I couldn't solve. They didn't want to be pregnant again, but their husbands kept forcing themselves on the poor creatures, or they keep getting venereal disease from their prostitution, or they can't quit the bottle, and I just think that working in the solitude of the cadaver lab was more peaceful than trying to cure the demons of these creatures with heroin and drugs that do not truly address what they seek." Emily realized she was rambling, and felt embarrassed that she had bared a tiny part of her soul to such a composed lady. However, Dr. Ogden smiled knowingly.

"I know how you feel, Dr. Grace. Although I have to say, I have never had someone come and ask to work with me. Most men don't want to learn from a woman, and most women are interested in working with the living. Why don't you come down and visit the morgue with me, and we can talk more. It smells strongly of formaldehyde, unfortunately, but I do have some tea."

Emily had sat for a few hours with Julia, bright eyed as they relayed tales from medical school and Julia told Emily about her daily routine. She had gotten up and surveyed Dr. Ogden's materials, asked questions about equipment she hadn't seen before, and even gotten a peak at the body Julia had carefully concealed under her white cloths. The morgue was cool, dry, smelt horrific and did not let in a trace of light. Doctor Emily Grace felt like she had found her calling.

After their meeting, Julia had approached the newly input Chief Constable Giles and made a case for the hiring of Grace. Initially, he had grumbled about there not being enough in the budget for another doctor, but Dr. Ogden pointed out that, other than her sojourn to Buffalo, she had not left Toronto or gone on vacation for the last 4 years, and she couldn't guarantee that she would be around forever, and that if Dr. Grace didn't work out, they weren't bound to keep her. Giles had relented to an interview, and seemed to be impressed with her straight-forward manner. Or perhaps he was simply brow-beaten by Julia's gentle insistence. Either way, Doctor Grace became Practicing Doctor Grace. Emily's salary was, of course, a lot less than a doctor as experienced as Julia, but money had never been an object for her family, and she was happy spending her days in the cool morgue. It wasn't as personally satisfying as when she had hunched over bodies with Julia, learning from her practiced hands and calm demeanour, but the competency that she had gained was a different type of reward.

Emily's reverie was broken as a polite knock came at the door. She quickly wiped her hands on her apron, and invited the knocker in.

"Dr. Grace." Henry Higgins nodded, and behind him she could hear the unsteady steps of a few other constables. "We have a body for you."

"Is it a homicide?" Higgins nodded again.

"Yes. He has been stabbed through the heart, multiple times. He is very bloody, and he feels like a bag of marbles." Emily winced and went to retrieve her gurney.

"Gentlemen, on this table please."


	2. Chapter 2 - One Dress, Two Suspects

_**Author's Note: **Thanks for your review Demosthenes23! This isn't an AU. Julia is still working as a psychiatrist. I set this fic a bit into the future to avoid addressing Brackenreid's situation at the send of season 7 (as I am sure the writers of the show will do much better than I ever could) and also to make the wedding more impending in the timeline._

_As usual, let me know about any mistakes you notice, but also please review if you're enjoying this :)_

_..._

Julia perused the dress patterns, eyeing each one carefully before rejecting it. Emily watched over her shoulder, and every once in a while one of the women would make a snide comment about a dress, the other would laugh, and their march through the carefully organized drawers of Butterick patterns would continue.

"Julia, are you actually planning on sewing one of these yourself?" Emily asked, eyeing her mentor suspiciously. Julia laughed.

"Not at all! I don't have your natural talent for sewing. I'm going to pick a pattern, buy some material and have one of my former patients sew it for me. Her family put up more money than they had to have her treated in the asylum, so I have become a loyal customer to her. You should see the work she did for my dress that took a tumble off of my bicycle with me. You'd never known I had torn it to shreds!" Emily smiled, and pointed at the pattern currently in Dr. Ogden's hands.

"I would wager if you filled those puffed sleeves with helium you could have your nuptials in a cloud! You could take your entire wedding party with you." Julia let out a laugh. She was incredibly glad that Dr. Grace had agreed to come wedding dress shopping with her. If the truth were to be told, Ruby had offered to cut her tour of the Orient short and come to attend to every detail of the wedding, but Julia had begged her off. It apparently hadn't been a true offer, as Ruby hadn't offered a word of protest, and Julia was happier that way. Her sister had excellent taste, but was overly extravagant for Julia's temperament. The wedding would have wound up being at least two hundred people with a dress that was elegant and understated, but would have set Julia back by her entire inheritance. Emily had jumped in to help her with her wedding preparations, and had views similar to Julia: understated and elegant, yet frugal.

Also, she missed Emily's company dreadfully. She was the only female doctor at the lunatic asylum, which automatically brought on ire from certain other doctors, and her experimental treatments seemed to alienate the rest of the staff. Even the nurses seemed to be unsure of how to interact with her, as if they were afraid by being near Julia they would catch some of her radical ideas. Julia missed the intelligent, welcoming, feminine company that Emily provided. If truth be told, she had found her social circle had dwindled almost entirely. After school she had lost touch with many of her friends, and working in a morgue had left few chances to socialize with her coworkers without drawing the ire of their wives. After Darcy's death, his social circle had left her completely, and since the dreadful experience of Lavinda's bachelorette, the rest of the Dominion Women's Enfranchisement Association had avoided her like the plague. Now, the only three people she felt particularly close to were William, Ruby and Emily.

"What about this?" Emily grabbed the pattern in Dr. Ogden's hands. "It has a sleek design, which will frame you very well, and it is beautiful without being ostentatious." Julia looked very closely, and found she agreed with her friend. She wasn't quite frugal enough to need to repurpose her dress after the wedding, and this pattern offered a clear wedding design without being gaudy. Indeed, she was incredibly taken with it.

"An excellent choice!" Julia took the package and put it aside, and they continued their search. However, Julia ultimately found that nothing else came close to the perfection of the pattern Dr. Grace had chosen. So, Julia paid and the two doctors headed out for lunch.

...

"William is actually booking his church for the wedding. Being a staunch Catholic, nothing else would do, of course." She took a bite of cucumber sandwich. "We had to sit down and have a lengthy conversation with his priest. Because of the scandal surrounding myself and Darcy, Father McMillan said we could only be wed in his church if I converted to Catholicism." Emily's eyebrows shot up.

"You're becoming a Catholic?"

"Yes. And it is quite an arduous process. I am currently taking classes that the Father leads, which tend to be a bit on the dry side. We must run over the entirety of the Roman Catechism, which despite being a small book manages to drag itself out for months on end. William is my sponsor in all of this, so he takes me to church every Sunday and answers all of my questions. I don't think the Father McMillan is fond of me though." Emily rolled her eyes over her teacup.

"I am sure the presence of such an attractive woman makes him regret becoming a priest. He probably lays awake and night and imagines what could have been."

"Emily!" Julia admonished, but found herself smiling anyway. She had often thought that herself about the Catholic priesthood. Not allowing your clergy to marry seemed like such an ill thought-out and archaic practice. Despite her protests, she very much enjoyed Emily's sharp tongue. It was almost like having a little devil on your shoulder, who was willing to say out loud what you would not.

"Aren't you a little concerned about becoming Catholic?" Dr. Grace asked, her dark eyes peering deeply at Julia. "Being a Catholic isn't exactly easy in Toronto, especially when you already have the scandal of Darcy's death and your subsequent imprisonment following you. I would hate to see you denied your professional advancement because of some ridiculous system of religious discrimination." Dr. Ogden sighed and held her teacup of her hands, tracing the handle absentmindedly.

"I know it isn't easy, but I don't think the good things in life are. I love William, I love him with all my heart, and if all I have to do to be with him is show up at church every Sunday and for the occasional evening mass then it will be a small sacrifice compared to what we have already been through. I am lucky to have been able to have a career where I could jump from being a pathologist to a paediatric physician to being a psychiatrist. I feel that I have had an excellent career, and I know that whatever comes next, I will be fine." Emily continued to fix her with that dark, deep gaze, and Julia felt a chill go up her spine. There was something inherently sensual and erotic about Emily that always gave her a slight thrill. Some people, Julia had noted throughout her work, were just naturally alluring, and although she hadn't realized it immediately, Dr. Grace was one such woman. Julia always felt sexually charged when Emily was with her, and seduction seemed to pour out of her, in her deep eyes, her slow smile, the way she spoke with such confidence. Julia very much enjoyed the sensations she got from the younger woman, although this was all far too inappropriate to say out loud. It was Julia's little secret.

"What religion were you raised in?" Julia let out a small laugh.

"Being in the country, our only options for a nearby church were the Roman Catholic, or the Anglican. We went to neither, and if asked my father claimed he was a Unitarian, although I don't think he particularly held strong religious beliefs one way or another." Emily laughed out loud.

"The country-side Unitarian! That must have made him quite the talk of the barnyard." Julia nodded her agreement.

"Enough about my wedding though. I have been selfishly prattling on about myself for the entire day! What have you been up to, Dr. Grace? How are things at the morgue? With Constable Crabtree?" Emily slowly finished the bite of egg salad sandwich in her mouth, and recollected the events of the last week.

"We had a very blood case yesterday. Henry and George brought in a body that was murdered in a brutal way! Someone had smashed this man's ribcage on the left side, I believe using a hammer of some sort, and then proceeded to stab the man as deep as he could in the heart! All of this while we was still alive. The blood that had dried on the body was horrific, I can only imagine what the crime scene looked like."

"It must have been ghastly! Not to mention, it must have been a loud murder. Do they have any witnesses?" Emily shrugged.

"I haven't heard anything from William's investigation, but you are right, the victim must have been screaming horribly while he was being murdered. This man was attacked in his house, which he was preparing for his fiancée. Apparently he kept trying to run while this maniac was chasing him, so there were scuff marks and blood all over the home. I wouldn't think the bride-to-be would want to live there now."

"Such a passionate attack." Julia murmured, staring absently at the trim on the edge of the wall. "The heart is such a primal place too, representing the seat of emotion. It sounds like it was a very personal affair. And stabbing someone is also a very intimate act. You have to be physically very close to the person, close enough to smell them, to watch their eyes, to have their blood spatter on you." She shook her head. "I can't imagine hating someone enough to want to cause them that much pain and suffering." Emily shrugged.

"I can. I think that love can hurt into hate if one party harms the other. There is no betrayal quite like the betrayal of the one you love. Also, as we know, Toronto seems to become more violent by the day." Both women went silent for a moment, remembering the surprise attach that had been sprung on Brackenreid a year ago. When Detective Murdoch had caught the attacker, it turned out it wasn't a personal attack again Brackenreid at all. The man was simply a mugger, who happened to find a victim in the wrong place at the wrong time. 'Toronto the Good' was slowly becoming 'Toronto the Vicious'.

"Speaking of love, how are you and George faring?" Emily shrugged noncommittally.

"Alright. On Friday evening we are going to a panel on metaphysics and the question of the afterlife. It will consist of a Jesuit priest, a Dr. Simard from Montreal and an explorer who had travelled around the world examining the ways of death from one culture to another. It will be very interesting." Julia smiled. Dr. Grace never did expound on her relationship with George very much, unless he had done something that irritated her to a great degree. "Speaking of George, I should be getting back to the morgue. I am sure people were dying over my lunch break. When are we going to go and look for fabric?"

"Do you have time on Saturday?"

"Of course!" Emily reached for her pursue, but Julia made a tut-tut sound and waved her away.

"After all your patience, the least I can do is take care of lunch."

...

William walked into the publishing house, and was immediately hit by odour of hot ink and the warm temperature of the building. Large rollers spat out large sheets of paper which various men took away to be cut. There were more staff here than William had anticipated, and he found himself uncharacteristically agitated. Between planning the wedding and helping Julia with her Catholic studies, William felt like work was getting in the way of the rest of his life. This feeling of being disconnected from his job was unusual, and he hoped it would pass. He needed his wits about him to solve this particularly grisly murder.

The name of the victim was Peter Coswell, and had a heart-breaking story. His parents had immigrated to Canada from Bath, England and died shortly thereafter. Peter had been shoved into an orphanage, but through ingenuity and the right kind of luck, he had managed to work his way from being a paper boy to running his own business. An avid reader, he had started a publishing company for local authors, magazines and papers. His company had recently published a novel which was very well received, and publishing houses across the world were approaching him with offers of translation and international sales. Between that, and his impending marriage to the daughter of a wealthy shipping magnate, everything seemed to be going his way. So, who killed him?

Philomena McDonnagh, the man's fiancee, had agreed to round up all the workers of the publishing house so that Murdoch could interview them. The operation had five men working on the machines, as well as an older woman who performed secretarial duties. William had enquired if there was a bookkeeper, but Mr. Coswell had done the books himself.

"Hello." He called out, strolling to the secretary's desk. "My name is William Murdoch, and I am investigating the murder of Mr. Peter Coswell." The woman nodded promptly.

"I was told to expect you. I am Daisy Smith. I have been working for Mr. Coswell for two years, when his business became large enough to need of a secretary." William nodded, and opened up to a new page in his notebook.

"_Phil Klazowski. I am the type setter."_

"_Bill Townsend. I cut the paper as it is printed off."_

"_Joe Tourigny, I bind the books."_

"_Mr. Klazowski, do you know of any reason why someone would want to kill your employer, Mr. Coswell?"_

"_Not rightly sir, no. I've only been working here six months, and he has been very kind and generous to everyone that I have seen. You couldn't ask for a better boss."_

"_Mr. Townsend, did it seem to you that Mr. Coswell was acting oddly as of late? Did he seem stressed or anxious?"_

"_No, the man was happy as a pig in shit, if you don't mind me sayin'. I don't know how he died, but I would suspect it was because his heart burst from happiness! He gave us all a little bonus on Victoria Day because of the success of his business, and as a celebration of his weddin'."_

"_Mr. Tourigny, do you know if Mr. Coswell had any rivals, in terms of business or in terms of his personal life?"_

"_Sure, every business has rivals! But nothing that I know that a man would kill over. He's having some success, yes, but I don't think it affects any other printin' business none."_

William felt like he hadn't gotten anything from the first four interviews, but as he approached his fifth he instinctively knew something was going to be different. While he had approached the other men as they worked, his fifth interviewee seemed to be ready for him, with his arms crossed and legs apart in a stance. He wore a small, nasty smile on his face that distorted his slender features, and William immediately disliked him.

"Hello detective." The man called out.

"Hello mister..." Murdoch cocked his eyebrow and waited.

"Thomas. Thomas Batten."

"What do you do here, Mr. Batten?"

"I cut the paper after they come out of the press."

"For how long?"

"As long as it takes." He replied, a sardonic grin crossing his face. Murdoch shifted, feeling annoyed.

"I mean how long have you been employed here?"

"For two years, since this joint opened up."

"Always in the same position?"

"Yes." There was a way Thomas was eyeing him that made Murdoch feel uncomfortable, like the man was playing a game that William didn't know the rules to.

"Mr. Batten, where were you last night between midnight and two am?"

"I was at home sleeping."

"Can anyone confirm this?"

"Yes, I always pay a lovely young lady to watch me sleep for 6 hours in the event of this kind of scenario. I will ask her to report to the station house immediately." Murdoch felt his anger growing.

"This is a murder investigation. A simple 'yes' or 'no' will suffice." The man's eyes grew a little brighter, and William knew he was very happy that he was getting under the detective's skin. He attempted to put a cap on his irritation, and asked "Did you know of any enemies Mr. Coswell may have had, personally or professionally?" Thomas grinned a little wider and shook his head.

"Everyone has enemies, detective. Sometimes they wind up being the people we trust the most."

"But did Peter have any that you knew of?"

"No. Everyone loved Peter." The man seemed to lose a bit of his steam as his body slumped slightly, and he looked forlornly at the press. "Do you have any further questions, detective? My work is backing up and I'd like to go home for a bit of supper as soon as I can." William sighed.

"What did you spend your bonus on?" At this, Thomas let out a throaty chuckle.

"A train ticket."

"To where?"

"Some things are personal, William."

...

When William went to conduct his last interview, he could also tell something wasn't quite right. His last round of questioning involved a timid blond man named Timothy Wells. He was so incredibly eager to please that William had problems following the man's loquacious over explanations. Not for the first time, William shook his head to clear out the excessive chatter.

"So you were out for drinks last night?"

"Yes, yes I was."

"And you have friends that can verify this?" Timothy looked worried.

" I do, but you see Fred is out of town right now on a business trip, and I am afraid that Lauren, well, he has gone to see his sick mother in Ottawa and I don't know when he'll be back, and I think that John left before midnight struck, so he probably won't be a good alibi, but he had a friend that stayed longer, although I don't remember that friend's name, because I hadn't met him before, but he seemed like a good man, and then there was the other John but he was passed out drunk by 10 and we actually had to-"

"If need be we can phone Ottawa and have your alibi confirmed. Do you have names and addresses for these men?" Timothy smiled sheepishly, like a little boy who knew he was in trouble.

"Well, not exactly sir. See, we're a bit of a social club, but we really only meet randomly at that bar on Wellington street, the one that is Irish and has that weird word above the door, 'slain-tee' or something? Anyway, its just sort of a 'show up' thing, because someone is usually there, that is kind of our pub, but not always, and I never really bothered to get to know their names, because I-"

"Are you married, Mr. Wells?" He shook his head.

"I'm just very shy around girls, detective, and-"

"Do you know of any enemies Mr. Coswell might have had?"

"No, he was the most kind man in the world. He is a real rags-to-riches success story, but he hasn't forgotten what it is like to be poor. He is always donating money to that orphanage that he was at as a child. Too kind for anyone to have a grudge against him." William nodded, thanked Timothy and closed his book as he wandered to the front of the publishing house. It was five o'clock, and he had been at this for four hours. He was mentally exhausted, and needed time to properly process all the seemingly useless information he had been given. Given his gut feelings, Philomena was genuinely heartbroken, and the first four employees had nothing to hide. Thomas and Timothy, however, had rung William as being...off, somehow, in a way that he knew would bother him until he figured it out. But until that glorious revelation arrived, William was determined to get a bit of supper and to go and purchase Julia's wedding flowers.


	3. Chapter 3 - Good Wives and Best Men

_**Author's Note:** I apologise for the almost one-year delay in getting the next chapter up. I am going to try to be more diligent in my posting! Obviously this is quite AU now, so don't mind me!_

* * *

><p>Thomas Brackenreid had his shoulders shrugged up so closely to his ears that they almost touched his bowler hat. Bloody Margaret. If it weren't for<br>her, he would be at Station House Number Four, where he truly belonged. Instead he was hunkering down like a common criminal as he made his way to Sullivan Street, feeling like an idiot. However, for all his trying to appear inconspicuous, he was drawing the eye of passers-by more than usual.  
>The inspector let his shoulders back down and straightened his neck. 'Walk with confidence.' He thought to himself. 'Look like you're supposed to be<br>here.'

He wasn't supposed to be here, and that was a fact. He wasn't insane, deranged, a pervert, some socially awkward nut. He was Inspector Thomas  
>Brackenreid of Station Number 4, and you didn't get where he was by seeing a bloody doctor every week. Between work, the opera, the theatre, and the frequent scotch runs, he imagined that the only people who had time for this type of poppycock were hysterical, childless wives. Maybe it was good for them, he mused. Something to occupy their time. But Thomas Brackenreid was none of these things, and he was sure this doctor would be able to see that and would tell his wife that he was a respectable man who didn't need a woman telling him that he needed 'help'.<p>

He arrived at 235 Sullivan Street and pulled open the door. Thomas was greeted by a young plump girl, who smiled welcomingly as he removed his hat.

"Hello, and welcome to our office. Do you have an appointment with Dr. O'Hara?" She asked. Brackenreid sighed and rolled his eyes. An Irishman. Of  
>course Margaret would book an appointment with an Irishman. In fact, he was probably a member of the Temperance League. Wouldn't that be lovely.<p>

"Are there any other doctors in this building?" He asked. The young lady frowned.

"No, sir."

"Then I guess I've got an appointment with Dr. O'Hara." Her pleasant smile returned, and she got up from her desk to take his jacket.

"Excellent. I will let him know you are here. Please take a seat while you wait." He took off his jacket, and settled himself into the handsomely made  
>wooden chairs as she disappeared. Looking around, he found the place to be uninspiring. It didn't instill a sense of uneasiness, dread or excitement.<br>It was as boring as any other medical office he had been in, and he had been in quite a few since his attack. His thoughts idly wandered as he gazed around, and he wondered who would want to get into this kind of business anyway. Probably just nosy buggers. Probably all the doctors like  
>O'Hara got together in a big Irish gab session, because the Irish like to gab, and started spreading rumours about all the nutjobs they saw. Typical<br>Irishmen.

"Dr. O'Hara is ready for you now.'

Dr. O'Hara turned out to be a tall, lean, delicate looking man with a splash of freckles strewn across his pale face. He has a serious air about him, Thomas thought as he settled into the chair directly across from the doctor. There was a small desk off to the side of the room, but the two men had nothing between them, and this unsettled Brackenreid. In the military and in his life in the Toronto Constabulary, he was used to being on one side or another of a desk. It was a very clear line about who held the most power, who was leading the encounter. These sorts of things needed to be established right off the bat so that everyone knew their station. Now, he was at a loss as to who started the conversation, who directed it, and who determined when it was done. He shifted uncomfortably as O'Hara carefully eyed him, and held the silence longer than Thomas would have liked.

"Mr. Brackenreid." he finally said. "Welcome to my office. I hope you found it alright." His accent was very much Canadian, with a light musical undertone that Brackenreid couldn't quite place.

"It wasn't hard to find." He muttered.

"Your wife has referred you to me."

"Yeah, but you know women. They just want you to talk all the time about what is going on in your head, and that's a bunch of bollocks. Not every  
>idea needs to escape my noggin. A man needs a private thought or two, you know." A small smile inched its way onto Dr. O'Hara's face.<p>

"Of course. Why do you think Margaret wants you to come and see me?"Brackenreid shifted uncomfortable in his seat again.

"She complains that I keep waking up with nightmares. It disturbs her sleep with my tossing and turning, and getting out of bed. She says I keep  
>calling out in my sleep. She also says I snore. Bullocks. I do not snore."<p>

"Is there anything else?"

"Well, of course she doesn't like my drinking. She says I drink too much, and sometimes I take a bit too much for social events. But a man has to let  
>his muttonchops down once in a while. She also says I yell too much – at her, at the children. She has a point about it though. I'd like to stop that." He admitted, and his thoughts longingly turned towards his scotch collection. He hadn't had his morning shot yet, and talking about it was making him itch for it.<p>

"Why do you think you yell at your family?" Thomas shifted uncomfortably in his chair, feeling a little violated by such a direct question.

"My dad yelled at me. It's just how we were brought up. You get yelled at in the military. Yelling is effective. And I just become irritated sometimes. Quite often I don't mean to yell, it just seems to come out that way." Dr. O'Hara nodded.

"Tell me about your military service. I understand that you've been in quite a few campaigns across the empire?"

"Yes." Thomas sat up a little bit straight, his chest puffed slightly, as he began to recount his history. "My first campaign was in Afghanistan. I  
>was in the second campaign. From there I went straight into the Boer war, and then I was sent to Burma. I was part of the army, not the navy. I don't particularly like the sea. That's why I didn't settle in Nova Scotia. I wanted something that was more landlocked." The doctor nodded again.<p>

"I fought in the Boer War as well."

"Which side?" Brackenreid demanded, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"For queen and country." He assured the inspector softly. "My father was English." Thomas felt his back relax a little, but he wasn't entirely  
>convinced of the man's loyalties.<p>

"When did you start drinking heavily?"

"In the military, of course. You don't go to war without a flask." O'Hara nodded.

"What about your upsetting dreams? How often do you have them? Is there a reoccurring theme to them? When did they start?"

"After I was bludgeoned on the street last year. Its just stuff you would expect – I dream that I'm being mugged again, or being shot at by some boer with a musket. I think that's typical."

The interview continued on, and they briefly went over Thomas' coming to Canada, meeting Margaret, what he thought of his wife and marriage and  
>finally, whether Brackenreid thought he needed to be talking to a psychiatrist.<p>

"Nope." He announced proudly. "I am just an ordinary bloke. I don't need any poppycock like this. I haven't murdered anyone, and I'm not some  
>deviant or some nutbag. I know Margaret is just worried, but she tends to get herself worked up over nothing." Dr. O'Hara seemed to peer at the inspector more deeply than he had for the previous hour.<p>

"Well, I know your wife would feel a lot better if you came to see me on a regular basis, and I would like to chance to get to know you a bit better.  
>You're quite the fellow, Mr. Brackenreid." Thomas snorted.<p>

"Of course you want me to come back. How much is that going to cost?"

"This initial visit is free, but if it is amenable to you and your wife, I would like to see you once every two weeks. The fee is two dollars."

"Bloody hell. A dollar isn't worth much anymore, is it?"

"The usual cost for a season is four dollars, Thomas. Because your wife is a good friend of mine, I am reducing my fees."

"Well, don't bother doing me any favours, doctor." The inspector rose unceremoniously from his chair and swung open the door. "My jacket!" he  
>barked at the receptionist, who jumped and quickly ran to retrieve it. And with that, his first, and last, visit to the head doctor was done.<p>

* * *

><p>William was not a man to procrastinate, and when he did it was for a very good reason. He was willing to concede, however, that in this instance, it<br>was purely indecision that held him back. The choosing of one's wedding party was not to be trifled with, and he had been unsure of exactly who he  
>had wanted in the wedding party, and out of those who would be his best man. He had debated about choosing a man from church, but word that he was marrying a non-Catholic woman had cooled many attitudes towards him, and even though he knew that they would be pleased Julia was converting, he didn't care for such blatant ridiculousness. He had considered someone at the police station, and indeed that seemed like an obvious choice, but he often felt there was an obvious disconnect from the rest of the station, and he wanted to arrive before God at the altar with a man he truly respected. After all, if he was going to have the most amazing woman on the planet walking towards him, he needed a matching groomsman. Understandably, James Pendrick greeted William with a very confused expression.<p>

"Detective? I never thought I would see you darken my doorway again." He leaned against the large marble columns in his foyer, smoking a cigar idly.

"I'm not here on police business." James snorted.

"If you've come here to ask for some art advice, I'd beg you to remember that Sally has long since shown her true colours and fled, and I still  
>don't have the faintest clue what it is all about." Murdoch smiled and removed his hat.<p>

"I actually had a favour to ask of you." James looked surprised, and then amused."Of course you do. What is it?" William had practised the words, but in the moment he found them to be jumbled. So he took a deep breath and the words came in a dull, and uninspired request.

"Will you be the best man at my wedding?" For once, James was speechless. His cigar hung between his slackened fingers, his brow furrowed like he was trying to figure out a particularly elusive joke.

"Well?" The detective asked after a few moments of silence.

"Why me?" He demanded. "Surely you have some sort of constable you could rope into doing this. Or some sort of... religious friend?"

"You are a man of excellent taste, and I probably need a little more of that quality." James brought his cigar to his lips as William clenched his hat tightly, examining the detective thoroughly.

"You're Catholic?" He asked. William nodded. "Does this mean that I have to convert?"

"Julia is, but it isn't expected of the wedding party." Pendrick looked at William pensively for another moment, then broke out into a smile.

"Well, we certainly have some work to do, William!"

* * *

><p>"How did you think the panel did?" George asked Emily as they strolled down Spadina Avenue.<p>

"I quite liked James Durand, the explorer. He just seemed open to a world of possibilities, and that is what I think the afterlife is."

"How so?" George asked, his soft eyes focused on Emily.

"Well," Emily readjusted her grip on George's arm. "When members of the metaphysics society have gone under, they all seem to have different way of experiencing the afterlife. One person met with Thomas Addison. When Murdoch accidentally went to the afterlife, he described it as heaven. It seemed like what they thought would happen came true. So perhaps the afterlife is relative to your perception of what it should be." George  
>smiled.<p>

"Emily, you are the most fascinating woman I have ever met." Emily felt uncomfortable under his praise, and the way his eyes would light up when he was delighted with her. She had quite the odd relationship with the constable. On one hand, he was the only one she had told about the Metaphysics Society, and the trouble they had gotten into with Detective Murdoch. She knew he would understand, and that her oddities were safe with him, and she couldn't help but love someone who was so open and accepting. On the other hand, when he looked at her longingly, Emily couldn't help but turn her head and hope that her irritation didn't show through. It wasn't a problem that was unique to George, however. She had felt the same toward Jerome, although she didn't like him on a personal level nearly as much as she appreciated the young constable. Leslie Garland was another failed attempt of hers to feel what she heard other women talking about. Initially, there seemed to be some sort of raw sexuality that Emily had been drawn to, but the more time she spent with him, the more bored she became with the remaining Garland as well. She regretted that affair for the hurt that it had caused George, as it had been very selfish of her to simply leave him dangling while she went off gallivanting with his rival. Now she had come to accept that this was most likely it - that she was expecting too much from a relationship, and that falling in love wasn't a  
>magical experience for everyone. She loved George in her own way, and perhaps that was all the mattered.<p>

"What do you think you will see when it's your turn to shuffle off?" George's voice returned her to their conversation, and Emily was taken  
>back. She hadn't actually considered what she would see, were her hypothesis true.<p>

"That is an excellent question, George. I'm not sure. What about you?"

"I would see a world like on earth, but instead of the social order being what it is now, it would be topsy-turvy. The poor street urchins would be kings, and evil men would become the slaves. And it wouldn't matter if you were a man, or a woman, or a Negro, or an Indian, or short, or tall, or  
>wealthy, or poor. The only way that you would get ahead was by the strength of your character." Emily nodded.<p>

"Where do you think you would be in that society, George?"

"I think I am a good man. Not a great man, but a good one. So maybe it would be exactly like it is here on earth - I would be a copper, living  
>comfortably, and doing what I do best." Emily smiled fondly at her suitor.<p>

"I think you would be a king in that world, George." He looked a little surprised, but they stopped for a moment on the corner of Spadina and  
>Queens and smiled tenderly at one another. Then, Emily heard it.<p>

"George, is that Julia's voice?" she asked, just as another laugh went up, followed by a charming "You are incorrigible!" George's face widened.

"I think you're right!" The couple instinctively moved closer to the building, and carefully peered around the corner. They saw Julia  
>approaching Queen Street from Beverly Street, and her arm was linked with that of a man that Emily didn't recognize. The man was about Julia's<br>height, slender, and looked to have dark hair, but the only other distinguishing thing Emily could tell was that he had a decorative rattan  
>cane that was obviously not needed for walking. She wasn't sure if Julia and her companion continued to talk or not, because she felt her face get<br>red and her collar get hot as the blood rushed to her head. Emily was hurt and furious, and she wasn't sure why. All she knew was that she felt sick to her stomach, and part of her wanted to bash the man in with his trendy cane, and part of her wanted to run until she felt exhausted, and then run some more until she couldn't feel anything.

"Emily?" George's cautious voice called her back to reality again.

"What?" She snapped.

"Was that... what it looked like...?" His voice trailed off.

"How should I know, George? You're the constable, why don't you tell me!"

"Emily, don't bite my head off." He retorted. Emily sighed, and began walking again, this time at a hurried pace.

"After all that scandal with her seeing William while her marriage with Darcy was on the rocks, and she has the nerve to start hanging around with  
>yet another man. Did you know she's converting to Catholicism? Because the priest finds her past so horrifying? Now she's off being courted before<br>William even gets her to the altar. The nerve!" Emily kept blathering, because she felt tears begin to prick her eyes, and she knew that if she  
>let her rage turn into sorrow they would come out.<p>

"Emily, Emily, hold on!" George had to break into a light jog to keep up. "Maybe this isn't what it looks like. Let's not be hasty with our  
>judgements." The young doctor stopped suddenly and took a few deep breaths.<p>

"You're right George. She is our friend, we must give her the benefit of the doubt." She whirled around to face him, and rubbed at her eyes to  
>dispel the tears that had been itching at the corners. "I will see Julia tomorrow, and I will ask her about it. Not a word to Detective Murdoch<br>before then, alright?"

"Of course not Emily. They've been through so much that the last thing I want to do is break the poor man's heart again. I am sure Dr. Ogden has a  
>very rational explanation for what we saw." Emily nodded in agreement, and George offered his arm once again, but Emily refused to uncross hers, and simply started walking back to her boarding house.<p>

* * *

><p>Pendrick's first order of business was a celebratory round of drinks at The Lion's Heart, a den of iniquity that William would have preferred to avoid.<br>James had grabbed William and taken him inside the house and made him painstakingly go over every aspect of the wedding which, William had to  
>admit, wasn't much. He had a church, a bride and some flowers. James had tried to persuade him to get married at Sacred Heart, the more stunning<br>Catholic church in Toronto, but William had steadfastly put his foot down. He was sure that James was merely storing his mental willpower to come back to the subject later, but the wealthy inventor was shocked when he learned William didn't plan on buying another suit for his wedding, and offended when he learned that William confessed he hadn't had a single pint with the lads in celebration.

"We did have a few shots, the constables and I, at the station, before we went back to work." James raised his eyebrows

"A whole shot? To yourself, William?" The detective had squirmed, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable with his best man.

"Well, I took a sip of it. I let the inspector do the rest of my shot for me." James had sighed and rested his head on his hand.

"William, you are incompetent, and that is OK. It's a bit late now, but better late than never."

The entire conversation had ended with James driving the two of them back to the police station, and him single-handedly inviting every member of the station out to The Lion's Heart for William's engagement party.

By the time William arrived there that evening, half the station was already there. He was dismayed to note that George and Inspector  
>Brackenreid hadn't quite made it yet. It wasn't that he actively disliked any of the others, but George was such an affable, outgoing man that he was<br>really the only constable that he had a personal connection with, and he felt a sort of filial loyalty to the Yorkshireman. William didn't feel like making small talk with the rest of the station, but he knew that trying to be more personable probably wouldn't hurt him. He grimly sighed and  
>resolved to take a barstool next to Higgins. Who knew, maybe one of the constables would surprise him with their pithiness and intelligence.<p>

"Sir." Henry said in surprise, eyeing William with part apprehension and part mirth. "I know its your engagement party, but we had a bet going on  
>that you wouldn't even show up." The detective shrugged.<p>

"You're just a sore loser Henry!" Worseley slapped his coworker on the back and grinned at William.

"Alright lads, the next round is on Murdoch."

"Constable, I don't-"

"Its Jack out here, William! 4 pints for us, good barkeep!"

"Coming right up!" Murdoch sighed as the rest of the station lit up in giggles. He already regretted coming here, and he made a note to put down  
>his foot more securely with his overly-involved groomsmen. However, he suddenly heard a familiar voice to his far right.<p>

"I'd like five pints. Well, maybe I'll get four. Lauren isn't here yet. Except maybe Fred will want two. He is quite a drinker. Do you know what?  
>Give me six pints. Six will be good." Timothy Wells was in this bar, ordering alcohol. If William's memory served, it appeared that two of his<br>alibis had come back from out of mentally prayed to God, thanking Him for this sudden turn in the case. In his line of work, so many breaks and solved cases were really due to being in the right place at the right time, and William was grateful that God continued to put him exactly where he needed to be.

Timothy kept running pints back to his table, and was utterly unconcerned with William. He sat with three other men, and while the detective couldn't hear their conversation over the din of the bar, it looked very typical. The men, all unfamiliar to him, looked jovial and excited, like men often get when they have a few rounds in them. None of them stood out in any way, and William felt almost cheated by this. Why was he here if there was nothing remarkable about the group?

The other constables tried to engage him in conversation, but William grunted each time and eventually they turned their backs on him. Eventually, George came in, still dressed in his cop regalia.

"Gentlemen, we -" George cut himself off as he noticed the drink sitting by the detective. "Sir, are you drinking?"

"No George. Here, take this pint."

"Bill, as I now call him, bought us a round of drinks!" Henry boasted, his pink cheeks impossibly high as he smiled. George shot a disgusted look at him.

"For the love of the virgin Henry, how could you be so inconsiderate? This man is planning a wedding! He doesn't have the money to buy you lot a round of drinks! Don't you know how expensive these things can run? And honestly, the cheek of getting your superior to foot the bill for a round of - you know what? Never mind. Lads, we're needed on number 25 Queen's Street. Another murder has occurred."

"All of us?" Henry whined. George shot him another withering look, and was about the reply when William cut him off.

"Not all of us. Higgens and Brockwell can come with me. The rest can stay. However, George, please come outside with me." George gave the detective a fleeting look which William couldn't quite describe. It was the same look that the constable have given him when he learned that Julia had refused his proposal, a pity mixed with a genuine empathy that only George could pull off. William ignored it and quickly rushed George outside as the other two constables groaned and begrudgingly donned their coats.

"George, in the left wing of the bar is a blond, slender man sitting with 3 other men right now. More should be joining. He was someone I interviewed  
>from the Coswell case, and he came off as suspicious. I need you to get into some plain clothes and watch them. Pick one of the other constables to watch them with you. Follow them when they leave this bar. If they go in separate directions, follow the blond." Crabtree nodded.<p>

"Sir, when do I stop following them?"

"Either when they sleep or when they lead you to something of note, George."

"William!" A booming voice called out. "Sorry to be late, I had a little unexpected trouble. I hope you have a good start on me!" James smiled  
>charismatically, and William shook his head.<p>

"I am sorry, James, but there has been another murder that I must attend to. However, there are still a few from station four at the bar if you wish  
>to stay." James sighed.<p>

"Ever married to the job, William. I respect that in a man, but you really do need to drink more." Higgins and Brockwell emerged from the tavern, and William gave his best man a curt nod.

"Noted. We do have to be off now. Thank you for organizing my party, it has been quite a lovely evening." James rolled his eyes.

"Well, get on with it then." And the three men ran into the night to find what awaited them.


End file.
